


You and Me, Forever

by Bluejay141519



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Full warning inside, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, The capitals are here and I made them bad guys I'm sorry, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: Sid sighs. “I don’t know Kris, I- I don’t see how we’re going to find our way back after this one.”“Oh please,” Tanger snorts. “There isn’t a universe out there that you two aren’t meant to be together.”(Sid wakes up.)
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 128
Collections: The 2020 Sid/Geno Exchange





	You and Me, Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thathockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thathockey/gifts).



> real quick: this story does deal with blackmail/threatened outing of a relationship, although it is only in the end that its really discussed. This story also has talk of concussions, and has scenes that take place inside a hospital.
> 
> Other than that, have a strange take on universe hopping with a happy ending!!

_ We wrote our names on the sidewalk _

_ Then the rain came and washed them off _

_ So we should write them again on the wet cement _

_ So a long time from now they’ll know what we meant _

_ ~'Together', The Raconteurs  _

**…**

Sid doesn’t know— he doesn’t know what happens. 

It’s almost like the universe is laughing at him. Sidney Crosby, who always has to be in the know, who always,  _ always  _ needs to understand what’s going on in every single part of his life at all times, has no idea what’s wrong with the single most important person in his life.

“I don’t—I don’t understand where this is coming from!” He’s not yelling, even if he wants to be. They’re on the road and it’s late. Hotel walls are thin. They have to play the Caps tomorrow, and he doesn’t want the whole team to know that their Captain and Alternate were fighting. 

That’s—they’re not fighting. This isn’t a fight. This can’t be a fight, because Sid doesn’t even know what they would be fighting about. Because Geno just came back from dinner with Alex, and Sid from dinner with the team. Because when they seperated it was with a smile and a kiss and a bit of a leer from Geno and it was normal. They were fine. They’re  _ fine _ . He doesn’t understand what went wrong. 

He doesn’t understand how they got to standing across from each other in a hotel room, arms crossed and voices raised and accusations flying. 

Geno looks so  _ mad  _ too.“Is your problem, Sid! Maybe if you listen, you know I’m not happy.”

“Not happy with  _ what _ ?” Sid snaps, feeling his heart climb into his throat. “With me? With this?” 

In the small pause that follows he realizes how fast he’s breathing. Panicking. He’s panicking.

“With  _ us?” _ Sid says weakly. 

Geno’s jaw clenches and he keeps his eyes solidly on the corner of the single bed in the room. 

Then he shrugs, like that’s enough. Like they can date for five years - like they can get through screaming matches and the horrible silence that follows afterwards, through concussions and surgeries and uncertainty - just for this to end with a  _ shrug _ .

But—no. No that isn’t true. They are not ending, this isn’t happening. That can’t be what this is, because  _ they were fine _ . Sid was going to shower, and Geno was going to join him, and then they’d get in bed together. Geno’s skin would be shower-soft under his fingertips, and Geno’s hands would go through Sid’s hair, teasing the curls while Sid tried and failed to read a chapter of his book before falling asleep.

It wasn’t supposed to be this. Sid wasn’t supposed to be waiting up for Geno, wondering if something bad happened or if Ovechkin got him too drunk again.

Geno wasn’t supposed to walk through the door looking for a fight. Sid wasn’t supposed to give him one.

“Maybe—” G inhales slowly, like he doesn’t when he’s trying really hard not to get angry. “Maybe need… space.”

To bad for Geno, because Sid- Sid is angry.

“Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me G?” He can’t help how low his voice drops. “Are you fucking serious right now? You kiss me, look me dead in the eye and say you love me, you leave for dinner and then you come back and you want  _ space _ ?”

(Sid isn’t angry.)

(He’s terrified.)

“Maybe—is for best. We been here too long, I think—need break.” Geno is still looking at the fucking bed, the carpet, anywhere but Sid.

“No,” He chokes. This isn’t happening. “No you don’t get to do this. You—what happened huh? What did Alex say to you?”

“Nothing  _ happen  _ Sid—”

“Yes it fucking did!” He yells back. He  _ is  _ yelling now, and he doesn’t care, and this doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense, Geno can’t be asking for what he thinks he’s asking. “Something happened, because we were fine and—Jesus fucking  _ look at me  _ while you break up with me, you asshole!” 

Geno’s eyes snap to his, only for a second, only long enough to see shock reflected back at him. Only long enough to see Geno look at him with regret, but not the love that they once did. His gaze is cold with barely concealed pain. Sid wants to throw up.

He knows Geno doesn’t want to do this. He  _ knows _ .

“Why are you doing this?” He whispers. “What—whatever it is, just tell me, I can fix it, I can help you—”

“You can’t fix everything Sid!” Geno yells, angry again, shattering Sid’s hopes of de-escalating the argument and interrupting his desperate plea like he can’t stand to hear it. “Think you can do everything, always about you!”

“That’s not true!”

“Is true! You never listen! Maybe if you weren’t so— so caught up in you, could notice things not okay huh? Notice things not okay with me!”

Sid nearly physically recoils at Geno’s words. “I—I’m not, I don’t think—you were fine! We were fine!” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, rather than G. “You can’t tell me that suddenly you hate being with me after five years of talking about getting  _ married! _ I know you, and you—I know what you look like when you aren’t happy, and you can’t tell me you weren’t happy!”

Geno buries his hands in his hair and makes a frustrated noise. “Think you know everything about me, yes? The great Sidney Crosby, can’t ever be wrong!”

Tears start to build in his eyes, a result of the rising panic in his chest. ‘ _ Where is this coming from?’  _ “No, I—I don’t—we can—just talk to me G, I’ll listen, I’m not trying to—” He backpedals, but it doesn’t matter.

Geno rips his hands from his hair and takes a step forward, pointing a finger at Sid. “That the  _ problem  _ Sid,” He hisses, absolutely seething. Sid doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Geno so angry. “I could sit, and tell you my whole life, and you wouldn’t listen, you wouldn’t  _ care _ ! You just find a way to make it about you. So—no. I’m—” He waves a hand and turns away, making a disgusted noise instead of continuing. 

Sid blinks rapidly, gasping as a tear lands hot and heavy on his face. He stares at the floor, desperately trying to think of—of  _ something. _ Something to say that’ll keep this all from falling apart.

There’s nothing though. There’s nothing and Geno is standing up with his bag, waving the key cards to an empty hotel room the team still gets for him. 

They haven’t voluntarily slept apart from each other for years. 

“ _ Zhenya _ ,” Sid pleads, dragging his eyes up from that shit carpet to stare at the back of his boyfriend’s head. Geno freezes, halfway to the door. “Please don’t walk out that door.”

He stays still for just a second longer, then leaves Sidney with nothing but his tears and the gentle click of the door shutting behind him.

**…**

He called Taylor—or at least he tried to, but considering the time zones, he’s almost glad she didn’t pick up. Sid is just barely holding it together as it is; hearing his sister’s voice would almost definitely put him over the edge.

Sid doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to process what the hell just happened, so he robotically goes through the motions of showering and brushing his teeth and getting in bed. He even reads through a chapter of his book, but has to keep the bookmark where it was, because he doesn’t absorb a single word.

Sleep is rather hard to come by, for a rather obvious reason. Reasons, actually. There’s so many parts of the conversation that tear into Sid, he doesn’t know where to start. Usually when he can’t sleep, there’s a definitive, often singular, source. Sometimes it’s a physical annoyance, and sometimes it’s just that his brain won’t shut off because something is bothering him that he’d done his best to ignore.

This time it’s—well, he doesn’t even get the chance to ignore it. This time it’s glaringly obvious and it’s persistent and he can stare at the ceiling all he wants, it sure as shit is not going to go away.

Because this is Geno. This is Geno and this is maybe everything Sid has ever been scared of.

Every single part of the conversation replays in his head, looping in some torturous highlight reel of all the things that went wrong; all the things that  _ hurt _ .

There were always going to be risks in dating each other, and Sid and Geno had sat down after their very first night together, talked for hours about all the things that could go wrong, all the repercussions. How it would affect their families, their friends, their careers. Their team.

Then they went and did it anyway, because Sid wanted to be happy. He wanted to be with someone who made him happy. He wasn’t especially naive, he knew the personal risks as well, what it would mean to open himself up to someone. 

This was it. Geno knew right where to hit, he knew exactly what to say, and it feels like it’s tearing Sid apart from the inside. 

The jab about not listening to him, not knowing what was wrong—that’s a fear that’s followed Sid since he got the C. He knows that he talks a lot and that his history can be intimidating to players new to the team, especially the young guys. It’s why he tries so hard to make them feel comfortable. He wants them to be able to talk to him, to know he respects them.

His skill does not, and should not, invalidate the input of his teammates. He wants their questions, he wants their advice, he wants to know what they see because it could be something he  _ doesn’t _ . Just because he’s captain doesn’t mean he knows everything. He isn’t perfect, he’s not even close, but the amount of hype around him can be intimidating.

He doesn’t want anyone to feel like Geno apparently does. Like they can’t talk to him. Like he wouldn’t care to listen.

That alone—that might’ve been something Sid could deal with. He might’ve even been able to catch a few hours of shut eye if that was the only thing. He could’ve convinced himself that he just needs to work harder at it, and that he could convince Geno that they could still work. That Sid would work on it, would be  _ better _ .

But that’s not it. That’s not it at all and Sid knows he can’t try to make up with Geno unless Geno does some serious explaining, because this came out of nowhere.

That’s something Sid has been terrified of since Duper announced his retirement and didn’t tell him. He’s always,  _ always,  _ been afraid that he gets so wrapped up in his hockey that he misses the clues, the signs that things aren’t okay with his friends. A part of him is always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for a massive problem in one of his relationships to arise out of nowhere. 

Geno knows about it too. He knows that Sid has a bad tendency to think of worse case scenarios when someone acts just the slightest bit off. He knows because Sid told him, and because Geno’s helped Sid break that pattern of thought. Which makes it hurt so much worse that Geno is the one who did this.

His alarm goes off, loud and painful to Sid’s ears. His eyes burn, from tiredness or the effort of holding back tears, he doesn’t know or care. He gets up the same way he went to bed, forcing himself through his routines and only glancing in the mirror once after he brushes his teeth to see how bad he looks.

Sid doesn’t have ‘my long time boyfriend broke up with me and I stayed up all night trying to understand why’ tattooed across his forehead, but he might as well.

He decides not to be early for once in his life and showers again.

**…**

The room set up for the Pens is relatively large, often used by hotels for private functions. A very typical set up actually; a buffet table lining one wall and circular tables spread out across the floor. Sid’s seen rooms like it hundreds of times. 

So, there really isn’t any reason for him to be standing at the entrance like a nervous rookie about to meet the team for the first time. 

There’s only a few people before him: Schultzy and Petterson mulling around the buffet line, Teddy already hunched over a plate, and Muzz and Jarry at the corner of the room sitting together in goalie solidarity. If he stands at the door any longer one of them is going to notice his hesitation, and, on the off chance that the team hadn’t heard what happened last night, he needs to act as not weird as possible.

He meanders down the buffet line and tries to look like he’s actually considering food and not just gunning straight for the coffee. Nothing looks appetizing, but he grabs some toast and some steel cut oats and makes his way to an empty table.

He pokes at the oatmeal like it’ll distract him from the glaringly empty seat next to him. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Geno walks in and he doesn’t sit—

“Hi Sid,” A groggy sounding but familiar voice hits his ears a moment before a body much smaller than G’s drops down next to him. Guentzy doesn’t really acknowledge the fact that Sid is staring open mouthed at him, just slumps over the table like he’s a few seconds from going back to sleep.

“Hey Jake,” He says softly, slightly in awe at his rookie’s loyalty. Or audacity. Normally taking Geno’s seat would constitute some light maiming, or several weeks of pranks at the very least. 

Jake just gives him a sleepy smile and goes about picking all the honey dew out of his fruit salad.

He stares for a second longer, then Rusty lands in the seat on Sid’s opposite side, making him jump and nearly knock his silverware to the floor. More players start filing into the room, conversation starting to pick up between them. No one says anything to Sid, though—not a single word about the fight or the aftermath that they surely heard. In fact there’s very little conversation involving him at all, not even when Geno walks into the dining room five minutes late without an excuse or a glance at Sid.

Sid doesn’t stare after him or anything, because there are those on the team that know about Geno and him, and then there’s those that  _ know _ , and those who aren’t in on the secret certainly don’t need to be suspicious. The team isn’t so split anyway, and G easily has a seat next to Horny and Schultzy. 

Seeing him still sends a fresh wave of pain through him so strong he has to dig his nails into his palm under the table to keep his eyes from watering. He can’t—he can’t be  _ different  _ here, in front of the boys. He’s already changed too much, not sitting next to Geno and barely talking during breakfast. It’s noticeable. 

His relationship isn’t supposed to be noticable. This was always one of his greatest fears, one of the things that kept him from being with Geno for so long. He never wanted their relationship to affect the team. He has a duty, as their captain, to be the best for them every night. He can’t—he  _ won’t _ —allow their livelihood to be jeopardized because he can’t get his personal life in order.

He’s nearly done just that—Sid’s used to being tired, and it  _ is  _ towards the end of the season—but he’s  _ exhausted _ . He’s wired, he’s emotional, he can’t get himself to focus, and they have a game in less than twelve hours.

He just needs to get home. He’ll repeat it a thousand times, say it to himself in the mirror if he has to, whatever it’ll take for his brain to focus on something other than the fact that Geno broke his heart last night for no apparent reason. They just need to win this game, and then they’ll be back in Pittsburgh and Sid can… deal with this all then. Alone. In his big empty house that he hasn’t been to in weeks, because he stays at Geno’s.

Firmly telling himself to get his shit together, he focuses back on shoving some food down his throat. 

And if anyone notices him stabbing his oatmeal way too aggressively, well—at least they don’t say anything.

**…**

That, unfortunately, becomes the theme.

No one has said anything. And Sid, he prides himself on being able to focus regardless of the situation. He shouldn’t be sparing a thought to the strangeness of his team not talking to him—because they’re not, not at all. They haven’t even achieved a normal level of conversation with each  _ other _ . 

Which is bad. Sid knew they were going to figure out that Geno and Sid were having…  _ friction _ , but he needs them to focus. He needs them to focus because Sid is  _ not _ .

Sid’s not, for probably the first time in over a decade. He’s made it all the way to warm ups without being able to completely focus on hockey. Every moment, from his stretching routine to the time spent taping his stick, his mind has been occupied with Geno.

He can’t stop thinking about him. They’ve avoided each other with near practiced efficiency, but there’s several parts of Sid’s routine that  _ directly involves _ Geno. Most of them he can ignore—they weren’t really rituals so much as an excuse to get a moment alone with G—but the handshake, the part where they walk out  _ together _ as one—that’s important. That’s the most important, because it’s always been there for Sid, even when they fought before, even when the team wasn’t doing well and Sid felt like it was the beginning of the end for him.

It always sucked when one of them was injured, but at least then Sid knew that there was a good, logical reason for it not to take place. Geno and Tanger would leave a space for him when the team walked out, a reminder to Sid that they wanted him back. And Sid would hesitate just a moment before leaving the locker room, leaving those few seconds like a tribute to what should have been. 

The two of them always molded around each other. They didn’t  _ take  _ space from each other, they just. Learned to coexist next to one another, and somewhere along the line  _ ‘Sid’s’  _ and  _ ‘Geno’s’  _ became  _ Sid and Geno’s _ . And when one was gone, the other didn’t move in or take over, they left a place for each other. 

Sid didn’t know what he was going to do if Geno refused. He didn’t know what he would do if Geno decided Sid wasn’t worth the space anymore.

**…**

Sid thinks he’s got this. 

They’re in the locker room, he’s going to get up in a minute or so to start herding the boys into the hall and out onto the ice and he thinks—he can do this. He’s settling into the right mindset, thinking more about the game and the plays they practiced and how he wants to come out of the gate, he’s as ready as he’s going to get. 

He just has to actually get into the hallway, and ignore Geno walking out behind him. He’s ready, he’s focused, he’s—

“So,” A body drops down into the stall next to him. Sid swears under his breath. “You gonna talk about it?”

“We have to leave in… oh, three minutes?” Sid murmurs. He’s focused, he’s fine. There’s nothing to think about except for hockey. He isn’t worried about losing the love of his life, he doesn’t want to call Flower and cry his eyes out again, and he certainly is  _ not  _ terrified that Tanger is about to rip him a new one right there on the ice. 

He loves Kris, he really does, which is why Sid would’ve expected, if the tables were somehow turned, that Kris would’ve come to him about whatever happened. 

Kris’s hotel room bordered Sid and Genos. Sid has not said a word to Kris all day. Sid is a dead man, because Kris  _ definitely  _ heard how upset Sid was, and _ Sid said nothing to Kris _ . 

“Well that’s a very low effort excuse,” Kris says, not a single ounce of mercy in his voice. Sid barely hides a wince. “You once chewed me out as we were changing shifts, and you expect me to think you can’t summarize those bruises under your eyes in the next three minutes?”

Sid bites his lip and ducks his head. The team wanders around them, normal to the public eye but subdued to Sid’s. Geno is already by the door. 

Maybe he can stall. “I take it the… lack of comment from everyone has been because of you?”

Tanger’s glare tells him he cannot. “Of course it was me, who the fuck else was going to do it? Flower? Duper? Sully? That would’ve been pretty impressive, since two of them aren’t on the team anymore and I  _ know  _ you didn’t tell Coach.”

Sid tilts his head to the side, and pretends to inspect the blade of his stick. “You think Sully would’ve told you, if I had told him not to?” 

“Nope,” Kris pops the ‘p’. “But I know that if you  _ had  _ told Coach, your response to me mentioning him would’ve been different.”

He sighs, shoulders dropping before finally looking over at his friend. Tanger looks at him, hurt and concern warring in his eyes. 

“Thank you for keeping the team off my back, I know it wasn’t easy,” Sidney concedes, biting at the inside of his cheek to keep his gaze from straying to Geno when he skates by. 

“I’m your fucking  _ A _ , Sid,” Kris responds. “And if that wasn’t enough, I’m your best friend. I thought maybe that would allow me the privilege of at least knowing  _ some  _ of what happened last night.”

Sid bites at his lip and glances at the clock. The boys are getting rowdy. “It—does. Like I—I want to tell you Tanger, I do, I just… I can’t. Right now.”

He knows that Tanger won’t push it. If the way his voice wavered wasn’t enough, the fact that he couldn’t get more than three words out at a time is. They’ve known each other too long and been through too much for Kris to not see how Sid is hanging by a thread right now.

“You’ll fix this,” Kris says confidently, leaning down to re-tie a skate. “You guys always do.”

“You’ve been married for how long? You know things don’t just fix themselves.”

“No, they do not. That’s why I said  _ you  _ would fix it. As in, you both would figure this out. Together. That’s how this works.”

Sid stands up and shoves his gloves on. “I don’t know Kris, I—I don’t see how we’re going to find our way back after this one.”

At least Sid doesn’t see how they’re going to do it together. Geno made it pretty clear, for one reason or another, that he didn’t want to be with Sid anymore. 

“Oh, please,” Tanger snorts, standing back on two skates again. “There isn’t a universe out there that you two aren’t meant to be together.”

Sidney huffs in amusement, contempt even—he’s never been a believer of soulmates. He’s been through far too much uncertainty to believe that something as big as love could be destined. Kris knocks into him once they’re standing and gives him a smile. “Look, I know you, Sid, and I know you’re freaking out right now.”

“I am not  _ freaking out— _ ”

“You are one hundred percent having a whole Sidney Crosby level of complicated  _ crisis  _ right now,” Tanger says flatly. “Because you don’t know how to fix whatever happened last night. And if you don’t know how to fix it, then that means Geno really screwed up, because you blame yourself for  _ everything _ .” He points his stick at Sid. “So maybe you might want to try trusting Geno to be the one to fix it, and you can focus on beating Ovechkin's ass.”

In true Tanger fashion, he leaves before Sid can start arguing (he doesn’t blame  _ everything  _ on himself, what the hell) and Sid’s left standing there with a dwindling number of teammates around him.

“Alright,” he mumbles to himself. “Lets get this over with.”

**...**

It goes fine. The whole  _ fucking  _ thing goes totally  _ fucking  _ fine and Sid is slightly enraged at how worked up he got over it. 

Sid did everything he usually does and as he turned around Geno was right there, their gloves moved together and their helmets clacked as they met and they walked out the tunnel. 

Perfectly fine.

That feels like the biggest joke the universe has ever played on Sid. Which is incredibly  _ ironic _ considering the predicament Sid finds himself in.

Even if  _ he  _ had managed to find some semblance of focus, that didn’t mean that Geno did, or the rest of the team, nor did it mean that the Capitals are going to be anything but the chaotic and aggravating team that they’ve always been. The game has been shit from the first face off—the lines aren’t clicking, the puck is bouncing like crazy, and Sid has two turnovers in the first, one of which lead to a goal against Pittsburgh. 

Sully screams at them during the intermission. Sid agrees with nearly every word he says, too, right down to the moment he calls the team fragmented. They certainly aren’t playing like the family they claim to be.

Sid doesn’t know if it’s entirely his fault, but he does know that his attitude is playing a part in it. It angers him, especially because no matter what he tries and no matter what he says he can’t seem to get the team to focus.

They’re back on the ice for the second, and Sid’s working his ass off, trying to get something going. They’re down two, and it’s not looking like a comeback is happening any time soon. The game is being played almost entirely in the Pens defensive zone. Sid clears it, make’s it to the opposite blue line, and then he’s racing back again because of an bad bounce off McCann’s stick.

The puck bounces behind Muzz’s net, coming to an awkward, tumbling standstill just along the curve of the boards. Sid rushes forwards, desperation to regain possession and control of the game overriding the sense of danger that comes with going towards the boards at that high a speed.

He reaches forwards with his stick, caught in the need to make a play. 

Pressure, then pain, explodes across his back. Someone yells. Sid has a split second to feel like he’s falling, flying through the air and—

\---

Sid wakes up.

He sits up with a yell, heart pounding in his chest. Gasping in air that doesn’t feel like enough, he squeezes his eyes shut and immediately sees the scuffed white end boards rushing towards him, like his eyes were open and suddenly they’re  _ right there  _ and he’s—

“Sid?”

His hand forms a fist, looking for a grip on reality. Instead he gets a grip on the… sheets?

Sid opens his eyes, and he’s not on the ice. He’s not in his hockey gear, he’s not on a stretcher he’s… in his bedroom.

The room is dark, objects only descernerable because of the pale moonlight that filters through the crack in the curtains. It looks like his room at least. There’s a few things that feel different— the walls look blueish instead of grey, and he swore he got rid of that dresser, but it’s been so long since he’s stayed here it’s definitely possible that he simply planned to change things and never did. 

Fingertips skim over his arm. Sid glances to his left.

His inhales so fast he starts coughing, nearly bringing tears to his eyes with the force of it. The same hand rubs up and down his back, its owners having shifted into a sitting position to get a better angle. 

Sid sucks in a breath and holds it, pinching the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes shut. His shirt is sticking to him with sweat and he can’t keep his hands from shaking.

“Sidney,” Geno whispers, voice gravely from sleep but soft with concern. His hand is settled on Sid’s back, warm and comforting and gentle. “Was just dream.”

He nods fast, eyes still pinched shut. “Right,” He coughs again. “Just—just a dream.”

Just a really long, drawn out, incredibly detailed and vivid dream. He thought his career and his relationship was about to end for good and it was—it was a fucking dream.

Sid glances at Geno again, gets a glimpse of dark, loving eyes and tosses his legs over the side of the bed. His legs feel weak as he stumbles to the bathroom. Everything feels  _ off _ somehow, but at the moment he’s able to chalk it up to disorientation. His heart still feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest, like his body thinks he’s still playing the fast paced, adrenaline filled game. 

Bracing himself against the counter, he stares at the granite. He could’ve sworn he had picked the rock with the silver specks instead of the gold, but he also thought—he was  _ sure  _ it was real. The break up, the talk with Tanger, the game—it was real, as real as the cold stone under his palms and the pair of strong arms encircling him from behind. 

But Geno is here, chest to Sids back, chin hooked over Sids shoulder. He’s calm and steady, and he isn’t mad at Sid, he doesn’t want space, he’s—he’s exactly like Sid thinks he should be. They fit together without lingering tension or the feeling of it being forced. There’s nothing to indicate they fought recently.

“Head okay?” G rumbles, nosing at the shell of Sids ear. 

He starts to nod, slow, and then changes it to a shake of his head. Sid clenches his jaw and forces himself to relax while Geno stiffens. “Sid?”

“I—I think I’m okay, I just—” He takes his hands off the counter and leans his weight back into Geno. It makes his chest ache horribly, thinking about how he didn’t know if he’d ever get this again, because Geno broke up with him and Sid couldn’t fix it and—

But they didn’t. They didn’t break up. Did they?

“Is bad dream?” Zhenya asks. Sid breathes out steadily for the first time since he woke up. 

“It felt so real,” He mumbles back. “It felt _ so real _ G, I didn’t—it feels like a memory more than a dream.”

Geno presses a soft kiss to the back of Sidney’s neck. “Was  _ just dream  _ Sid,” He repeats, squeezing Sid slightly. “Come back to bed, yes? Know you want little spoon.”

The words make Sid scoff and roll his eyes to the ceiling. “Sure, G,  _ I’m  _ the one with a little spoon denial issue.”

Geno releases his hold on Sid and whirls him around so they’re face to face. He leans down. Sid feels his heart in his throat, tipping his head back slightly. G’s eyes flit over Sids face, like he’s memorizing every detail. His eyes are so dark.

“You admit?!” He says, their lips mere inches apart. 

Sidney blinks. “What?”

“You finally admit you want little spoon!” G crows, taking a step back and pumping both fists in the air. “I’m know! You say every time, oh, no Zhenya, don’t like, want big spoon only, but I’m  _ know _ . Sid like being little spoon but just not say.” 

“I—huh?”

“Is okay Sid,” Geno pats his cheek gently then pushes him out of the bathroom. “Difficult time for you, very bad dream, admit to want little spoon, I understand. Lot of change in short time.”

“I’m little spoon all the time!” He yelps, trying not to feel thoroughly disappointed at the lack of a proper kiss. He scoops up a shirt from the floor that looks clean enough and hurries to change out of his gross one. When he turns around—when did he move the hamper?—Geno is already back in bed. He grins at Sid then pats the space beside him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sid grumbles, but makes his way back under the covers. Geno wraps an arm around him before he can even get his pillow fixed, then pauses. Sid looks up and nearly goes cross eyed at how close Geno’s face is to his. “What?”

Geno squints at him. “You really okay Sid? Know I joke, want you to smile again. Look… lost, when you wake up.” 

Sid’s breath stutters again and he feels a sudden desperation not to lose the easy happiness they held only moments ago. “You didn’t kiss me,” He blurts out. He wants the contact. He needs it to remind himself that this is real.

G laughs, tilting his head back with the force of it. “Sid pout because he not get kisses, is big problem yes? Fine then, I give you. So. Many. Kisses.” He punctuated each with a peck of his lips, darting all over Sids face. Sid giggles, almost giddy. Geno is here. He’s here, he’s with Sid, and they’re okay. They’re fine. They’re together.

Geno kisses his softly on the lips, one big hand cradling Sid’s head chasing away the last of the emotions from the dream.

“Don’t think kisses get you out of being little spoon,” Geno whispers. 

Sid smiles and rolls over.

**…**

The morning is where things get weird.

It isn’t that the paint adorning his bedroom walls actually is blue instead of grey, or that the laundry hamper is on the complete opposite side of the room, or that the picture of Taylor is hanging on the wall instead of standing up on his bureau. No, all of those things and a bunch of others Sid could easily explain away—maybe he forgot he moved things, maybe Taylor moved them when she stayed with him for a few weeks last summer, maybe decided to repaint and wait until Sid noticed. 

It’s the body wash in their shower.

He woke up still covered in now stale sweat, G draped over him like a weighted blanket. He can still remember the dream in startling clarity, and he’s distracted because of it. Geno  _ carried him  _ to the shower, Sid attempting to yell at him but laughing too hard to really convey any sort of seriousness. 

The shower itself was bigger than Sid remembered—again, he thinks maybe Geno decided to have some fun redesigning Sid’s house while they were away, a strange prank but he supposes it’s a harmless one. At least that way, when they shower together they can actually move around and don’t have to do any super awkward shuffle turn things to get under the shower head.

It’s nice, is all. Geno scrubs shampoo into Sids hair until his head is all suds, which Sid  _ thoroughly  _ enjoys, eyes closed in pleasure. 

“Hair get long Sid,” Geno says, then giggles and mutters under his breath. “Think I can do…”

His eyes snap open in alarm. “What are you doing?!”

The giggle becomes full, belly deep laughter as the fingers in his hair make a sweeping motion upwards. “Can!” Geno yells gleefully. “Need picture!”

“We’re both naked in the shower, you aren’t taking a picture of  _ anything- _ ” He turns around to be chest to chest with Geno and cautiously touches his hair. Immediately his shoulders drop in exasperation. “Did you just put my hair in a spike?” 

“Tall one,” G nods seriously. “Very good look. Think should wear like this always.”

Sid gives him a flat look while he drags his fingers through his hair, flattening it back down. It feels longer than he remembers; he should get a haircut soon. Geno fakes a pout and Sid carefully stands on his toes to kiss it away. 

“Fine,” Geno huffs when he pulls away. He reaches behind Sid towards the collection of bottles in the hanging metal rack. “You keep flat boring hair, I dye mine bright pink.”

“It would clash,” Sid mumbles, rinsing his hair. 

“With?”

“Literally everything, your face for one—ow!” He yelps, thumping his back against shower wall. “You don’t have to  _ pinch me— _ ”

“Being rude!” G says back, squeezing way too much shower gel into his palm. “Maybe now I don’t wash your back, you have to turn in circle all day trying to get clean.”

He steps towards Sid having worked the gel over both his hands. Only when he gets close enough to start spreading the stuff on Sid’s arms does he get a real look at the bottle Geno had used. 

“Shit, G!” Sid’s hands come up automatically, pushing on Geno’s chest to get him to back up. He looks at Sid, confused as Sid desperately scrubs the stuff from his skin. “What the hell are you doing, why do we even have that in the house?!”

“What you mean Sid?”

  
  


Sid pauses his frantic scrubbing for a second to stare at Geno. “You took from that bottle right?” He jerks his chin to the one on the floor. Geno nods. “That’s the stuff that gave me a super bad allergic reaction last year, remember?”

He doesn’t look for Geno’s reaction, just hurries to get out of the shower and towel himself off. If he can find the topical antihistamine cream he got from the doctor, maybe he can get it on before his skin really flares up. 

“You have… allergic reaction?” Geno’s voice sounds odd coming from inside the shower. Sid digs through the cabinets but it’s not there. Sid probably left it at Geno’s house. 

“Yes? You freaked out, my skin was super red and swollen and I felt horrible because you got it for me for my birthday, but then you went through both houses and got rid of every bottle that we had. Also, Tanger yelled at you for some reason?” He tears through the drawers of his dresser—there’s a lot more clothes in them and they’re all out of order (who puts jeans in the top drawer?) changes quickly into sweats and a t-shirt. 

Grabbing his phone he almost tumbles down the stairs, expecting there to be less of them. His phone unlocks using his face but when he goes into his contacts he can’t find Chris’ number. His foot makes the tragic decision of connecting with something hard, and Sid jerks his head up because what the  _ hell  _ is—

Sid blinks. Once, twice, and nope, the kitchen still… looks like that.

He can convince himself that everything else was just some strange prank, but there  _ is no way _ Geno thought it would be funny to completely rearrange his entire kitchen.

A table is what he hit his toes on, which doesn’t make sense because Sid doesn’t have a table in his kitchen, he has one in his dining room and he has tall stools that slide under his center island. 

This kitchen doesn’t have a center island, and the fridge is brushed steel instead of black and it’s  _ fifteen feet to the left of it’s correct position _ \- 

Geno didn’t know that the shower gel was something Sid was allergic to, even though when Sid had the allergic reaction Geno spent hours on the internet trying to figure out exactly which ingredient in the formula disagreed with Sid’s immune system. The shower was different, the countertop was different, his bedroom walls were the wrong color and why are they even at his house? Since when do they sleep in his house? Geno hates Sid’s house, he thinks it’s cold and boring and only likes it because there’s half a rink in the basement.

Sid doesn’t even like Sid’s house.

The dream comes back to him in crystal clear details, and suddenly he realizes he doesn’t remember how he got to this house. He doesn’t remember coming back from the road trip, he doesn’t remember the game against the Capitals, he doesn’t know how he got  _ here _ with Geno.

In a daze he taps the screen of his phone. It tells him it’s Thursday, which sounds right, but the fact that it’s apparently  _ November _ , does not. Sid celebrated the holidays with G and the team  _ weeks  _ ago.

Looking at the phone is a mistake. It brings his hands into view, and there’s something on his right hand, a bit of black ink on his ring finger. He tilts his hand to look at it and—

Oh.

That’s how Geno finds him, still staring at the thin lines of the tattoo. It’s like a wedding band, but with plain black lines,  _ ‘SG, 8771 _ ’ in the middle instead of a gem. And it’s inked on his skin. Which is a forever type of thing, Sid is never taking this off which is a nice sentiment except he can’t remember when he got it put  _ on _ .

Fingertips brush over his arm, just like last night. This time though they are not a comfort, because all Sid’s mind can tell him is that  _ this is not his Geno _ . He freezes, but the contact stays. “Sidney, think maybe…” Geno’s hand comes up to cover his, hiding the tattoo from him. “Maybe we go for drive, yes? Called Mario, he say Mark not busy, could see him.”

Sid frowns, looking up. “Mark?”

The worry lines on Geno’s forehead multiply. “Mark—your head doctor?”

Sid swallows hard. His neurologist’s name is Clara, not Mark. But he doesn’t know what’s going on, and he doesn’t know how to fix-

“Later,” Sid blurts out. He glances around the kitchen. “I, um. I’m sorry I think my…  _ dream _ last night messed me up more than I thought. I was actually thinking of going back to bed for a little bit because I’m still tired. Wake me up when we need to leave?”

“Sid, don’t think is good idea—”

“Please, G.” He forces his eyes to meet his- his  _ husbands _ . “We can go after if you still want to, I just want a little rest.”

He softens his eyes just the slightest and tilts his head, hoping that  _ this  _ Geno is just as immune to the action as  _ his  _ Geno is. Now that he’s thought of it he knows for sure that it’s true, that he isn’t meant to be here, that this is  _ not  _ his place. This isn’t  _ his  _ house, and this isn’t  _ his  _ Geno. It doesn’t stop him from pressing a slightly desperate kiss to G’s lips when he agrees to let Sid lie down for a bit.

He gets to the top of the stairs (they curve instead of going straight down; Sid remembers deciding on the straight ones because curved stairs threw off his depth perception) before thinking of something.

“G!” 

His head pops out from the kitchen, worry still painted on his face clear as day. 

“Sid?”

It doesn’t hurt to ask, right?

“If, if you—” Sid breathes out slowly. His head is starting to hurt. “If something was wrong. With you, and you thought—just—you’d tell me right? If something was going on with you.”

Geno blinks at him. That definitely confirms it then. If he pulled this kind of Weird with his Geno, he’d expect to see the Russian taking the stairs two at a time to drag Sid to the ER. 

“Yes,” G says slowly. “Course Sid. Is part of deal, you, me—”

“—we tell each other everything.” Sid finishes for him. He nods to himself. “Thanks Geno.”

Some things don’t change, he guesses.

…

Sid wakes up and his bedroom is exploding.

Actually—there’s a second before his bedroom exploded, where he was semi-awake and thought he heard yelling, and he felt like his whole body was rocking back and forth, and someone whispered his name from far, far away—and  _ then  _ his bedroom exploded. 

It was more like just the wall next to his bed, but the event tossed him clear across the room and onto the floor. Splinters of wood rain down on him, and he has a hard time opening his eyes for a few seconds. There’s a few more muffled _‘boom’_ s that seem to reverberate through the floor. 

Sid lets out a breath. His face feels itchy. He moves a shaking hand to touch his forehead and it comes away wet.

Okay so—definitely not a dream then. 

He’s on his stomach, hard wood that’s well worn from foot traffic facing him. He presses a hand to the floor and rolls over to see a solid wood ceiling. There’s dim light—the moon, full and strong and shining through the small windows of the room. The walls are the same wood, and it curves strangely, like it’s—

Not a room. A cabin. In a  _ ship _ . 

Someone’s pounding on the door like they’re going to break it down if he doesn’t open it. Sid lifts up one hand, for some reason searching for the tattoo, like it’ll have stayed despite the fact that he’s on a ship that would predate the normalization of inked skin. 

Instead he finds a ring—a real ring, thick gold band heavy where it wraps around his finger. If that wasn’t enough there’s a dull black metal wrapped around his pinkie, and another silver looking one around his thumb of all places, and what the hell is he  _ wearing— _

“ _ Captain! _ ” The knocking pauses, like the person is waiting for an answer. Sid manages to groan in response, letting his hand flop to the side as the ship rocks again. Even in this… world, dimension, wherever the hell he is, he still managed to get a concussion.

There’s a conversation outside, and the ship shudders again, only this time it doesn’t seem to be getting hit. Returning fire maybe? Considering the wood… everything, they’re probably using old fashioned canons, and—

Something that is probably a fist hits the door again, startling Sid into opening his eyes. ‘ _ They’re going to break the door. _ ’ He thinks idly, eyes wandering to the rings on his fingers. He always contemplated what he would do if he got married, if Geno would want rings—if it would be too dangerous, if maybe they’d do something else. Maybe they’d get tattoos, like in the place he was before, maybe—

A loud, splintering crack is heard before the whole door gets snapped clear off its hinges. Sid slides his gaze to the left, and  _ wow _ , pirate Horny is a look that Sid is absolutely never going to get out of his head. He knows that technically it’s possible they aren’t pirates or mercenaries or whatever the heck, but they certainly aren’t wearing any typical uniform from any country in any century that the interior the ship would say it belongs too, and—

“Sidney, hey! Cap, the ship is—”

“—shut up about the ship Guentzy—”

“—someone get Murder and stop yappin!” That’s Horny, crouched next to him. It takes a lot for Sid not to flinch. 

A cloth is produced and pressed against his head, which is great for the bleeding but Sid really doesn’t want to know where it’s been. Jake must’ve just popped his head in, because he’s not in the room anymore. Sid can’t place the second voice, and then a head of long, frightening bright blond hair pops up over Hornys shoulder and holy shit, that’s Hags.

His hair is  _ super  _ long. Sid is only not freaking out at the utter absurdity of all of this because his head is too fuzzy to fully process it.

There’s still a lot of yelling outside, but it doesn’t feel like anyone is firing anymore which is nice. The cloth gets in his eyes. Sid’s fingers are oddly steady when he moves it. “Where’d you get the…” 

He doesn’t mean to say it, because he doesn’t know much about what’s going on and he doesn’t know what they do to people they think are ‘crazy’ here. 

Carl just smiles at him, familiar and sincere and Sid feels something in him ache knowing that they aren’t teammates anymore. “They don’t call me Rags for nothing, eh cap?”

Sid feels his eyes widen. Before he can say anything though, another voice announces the arrival of a familiar face.

“You think they call me Murder for a reason too?” Muzz steps through the entrance, eyeing the remains of the door. “Christ Horny, what did the door do to you?”

“Separated me from my captain,” Horny—of course that nickname is the same—laughs. 

“We call you Murder because-—”

“Careful how you end that sentence buddy,” Muzz drops down next to Sid; fingers pressed to his wrist. Sid makes a noise in the back of his throat, because—just—what the hell?

“Because you prevent it, Jesus,” Hags straightens, looking around the room. “Also, you threaten to kill us so much. I’m gonna go check with G.”

He wisely vacates the room after that. Muzz might throw something at him—Sid’s still busy staring at his  _ goalie _ who’s apparently the ship’s doctor or something. 

“Cap?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Sid blinks a few times, glancing between the two faces around him. “What?”

“You wanna sit up?” 

They do get him up, but the ship rocks, and Sid lists with it. God, he’s going to have to try and walk. On a ship. In the middle of the ocean.

Like he’s been the captain of it for years and years.

_ ‘Please know something about concussions _ ,’ Sid thinks desperately, like he can will the knowledge into existence in Muzz’s head. “Um,” he huffs a breath out through his nose, trying to think of something that would be easily explained away with the head wound. “How’d you get the name Murder?”

Matt’s hands still where they were poking at the cut on Sid’s head. He raises an eyebrow at Sidney but- “I guess you really did hit your head,” He snorts. “Only you, Sid, get hurt while  _ sleeping _ .”

He directs Horny to find something cleaner than the now soiled rag, and pushes more of Sid’s hair back. “It was Muzz for a bit as they didn’t like my beard—”

“Because it’s  _ fucking atrocious _ !” Horny yells. 

“Ooh, big word!” Matt yells back. In a normal voice he adds, “Muzz turned back into Murr, and then Murder, because these  _ idiots  _ do so much  _ stupid shit _ that  _ always  _ ends with me having to put them back together and at some point I got really good at threatening to kill people, but also making sure they didn’t actually die.”

Something—a shirt perhaps—gets tossed over their heads. Muzz catches it without taking his eyes from Sid, and Horny starts talking about ship damage, all of which goes right over Sid’s head. He likes history, he’s read a lot of books, but he never  _ studied  _ it really so try as he might, he isn’t able to translate the words into something comprehensible to him.

He probably would’ve been fine to just lie back down again and maybe fall asleep, see if he wakes up on the ship again or if he’s somewhere else. Except then Horny is saying something about needing to upgrade their defense, because  _ it’s good but it’s not great _ and Sid goes and opens his mouth.

“Did you talk to Tanger about it?” He figures—defensive measures, defense, he’d bet that since G is most likely his first mate, Kris would be second, and would probably take offense to Hornys comment.

The problem is Matt is staring at him with increasing alarm, and Patrick with confusion, and—

“Who’s Tanger?”

…

Sid thinks it’s a really good thing half his face is bloodied, because it provides the perfect, nonverbal excuse and explanation as to why Sid—the apparent Captain of the ship—is wandering around like he doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

Muzz wanted to keep him in his cabin, but considering there’s no door and there’s a massive hole in the wall next to his bed, he really isn't going to get the peace and quiet his head needs. 

Also, it’s still a fully functioning sea bearing ship (aptly named the  _ Penguin _ ) and it just got attacked by the  _ Capital _ , so Sid is pretty sure there isn’t a place on the ship that’ll have peace and quiet. Besides, he—he needs to find Geno. 

He knows Geno is on board, mostly because while he was furiously trying to backtrack after dropping Tanger's name, Muzz mentioned him by his last name. Which—sure, there could be another Malkin with the nickname G that Sid trusts enough to be his second in command, but the odds of that are less than Sid getting knocked into a round robin of alternate universes.

Sid’s almost sure that’s what happened. He’s been in the league long enough to hear the stories —not the stories they tell rookies just to scare them, no the  _ real  _ stories of the NHL—and he thinks this isn’t that far off. He  _ knows  _ that this just isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Not just because he’s in some weird Pirates of the Carribean spin off either. It’s like gut instinct mixing with a general sense of foreboding and it feels  _ wrong _ . 

He thinks if this was all some extremely strange hallucination caused by the trauma of him going head first into the boards with speed, he wouldn’t  _ know  _ like he does.

He  _ knows  _ this isn’t where he’s supposed to be. He knows that the Geno he found here does not belong to Sid, the same way the Geno in the last universe didn’t belong to Sid. They’re different versions, and he’s sure they belong to the Sid’s that are supposed to exist with them, but they’re not  _ his _ .

Sid wants to be back with his. 

The world is too bright, sunlight reflecting off the water and back in his eyes when he attempts to survey the ship. There’s a few familiar faces on the main deck, rushing around but giving him respectful nods as they pass by. Jake actually smiles at him, but Sid still has a hard time not being outwardly shocked with the attire of choice for most of them, so he ends up pretending not to see Guentz and wanders up a set of stairs. 

There’s a whole nother level up there, and Sid stumbles through the doorways until he climbs a ladder up to a room lit by sunlight.

The maps are hard to read. He thinks if the ones left out are any indication, that they’re in the Atlantic, and that they’re closer to the coast than perhaps they’d like be. Possibly why the  _ Capital  _ attacked them. Although, if the mutterings from the crew are any indication, the  _ Capital  _ never needs a reason to attack them.

Some things never change he supposes.

There’s bootsteps behind him. Sid stares at the map of Canada that isn’t called Canada and tries to ignore the fierce ache growing in his chest. He doesn’t know what hurts worse—that Tanger likely will never be found in this universe, and that this Sidney will never know the careful, fierce protectiveness and closeness of that relationship—or that with the mere four steps it took him to cross the room, Sid recognized that it was Geno.

He saw Geno before he started bumbling around the ship looking for something to do. He saw Geno and for a split second it was like he was the Sid that belonged here. For only a moment he saw the memories that made up this version of Sid and Geno, but it was enough. He  _ felt  _ how badly this Sid loved his first mate, like it was entangled in his bones. 

Then he felt how much pain it caused, how much it hurt, like a burn that never healed. He knew there was  _ something  _ between them, but there wasn’t—they couldn’t be so long as they were on this ship. 

They’d had a conversation, this Sid and Geno. The sun was setting and it set the sky on fire, and Geno was beautiful, strong arms tan from a life in the sun, hair blowing in the wind. He wasn’t wearing his hat for once and Sid had looked at him and Geno had looked back and Sid had  _ known, _ right then and there that Geno felt the same.

But that wasn’t Sid. That was this version of Sid, this wasn’t his Geno. 

His Geno didn’t even want to look at Sid.

“Get hit in head, decide to come look at maps,” The fond rumble of Geno’s voice fills the small room, pulling Sid from his spinning head. He rubs at his eyes, trying and failing to focus on what he’s supposed to say instead of how close Geno is to him. “You crazy, Captain.”

Sid hums, using one of the pieces of charcoal to make an ‘x’ over what he thinks is Quebec. Maybe Flower is there too.

“Sid?”

“Where are we exactly? We should mark it.” He bites his lip nervously, hesitant at such question. He’s floundering in the dark here, not knowing what is correct and what isn’t.

G plucks the charcoal from Sid’s fingers. Long fingers trace lightly over the map, expertly finding a spot to circle. He was right, they are close to the coast. 

“Finally decide where we go? Must make landfall now, need supplies to fix Ovechkin's temper tantrum.”

“I think,” Sid murmurs softly, careful to keep his voice even. He traces the line of what he’s mostly sure is North America up the east coast. The paper is thick but soft with wear. “That we should go here.”

Geno hums thoughtfully. “Would have to be summer.” He points out a few circled areas. “And tough to get supplies. Not many cities on coast we can make port at.”

“I know,” Sid says softly, biting his lip. Boston almost definitely isn’t their friend here either. “But you said something about… maybe finding a place that we could go too, after all this is over. Whenever you want to… move on from the  _ Penguin _ . Not that we couldn't find somewhere else just—this would be a good spot. On the coast, so we can fish. Find a small town. Build a house near it, and no one would know who we are. No one would—no one would say anything. About us.”

Geno’s body tense for a second, before he slowly turns his head to look at Sid. His expression is carefully neutral, but his eyes hold so much and Sid knows, he  _ knows  _ what he said was right.

“Sidney,” G says carefully. He pauses, like he’s trying to find the words to  _ ask _ , without really asking. “You mean…  _ us _ ?”

“Just me and you,” Sid replies softly. “No one else. Nothing in between.”

“Think maybe you have hard time get rid of Guentzy,” Geno grumbles, but his hand is covering Sids on the map. He squeezes gently, sighing. “Yes Sid, I go with. I tell you before, I go anywhere with you.”

He smiles. Sid smiles back, then quickly straightens up. “Good, well. Um, I think I need to lie down, but my door is broken, so—”

G flaps a hand at him, still pondering the maps. “Use mine, not problem.”

Sid nods like he knows wherever the hell G’s cabin is. He’ll just find a flat surface somewhere and attempt to pretend like taking one last look at the maps. “Hey you said we were… here, right?” 

His first mate (and Jesus, is that a strange thing to call Geno) corrects him with a small mark on the paper. “Well, if we really need to resupply, preferably fix the hole in my wall, we should probably head… here.” Sid points out a small area that he’s almost sure is the right part of Pennsylvania.

“Is city there?”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble.” Sid smiles to himself. “Who knows, they might even like us.”

**…**

Sid wakes up and people are arguing.

He keeps his eyes closed and his body still. It’s just slightly jarring—he was walking down a flight of stairs on a rocking ship in the middle of a bright blue ocean with voices yelling to each other and seagulls cawing in the air and suddenly he’s  _ here  _ and people are still arguing, but he’s lying on a hard tile floor, and he can very easily tell he’s dressed in much different attire.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

“What did you do!?”

“Yeah, what the fuck  _ Marino— _ ”

“No one’s going to tell Mr. Lemieux about this right?”

“You just, like, killed his number one manager with a  _ cookie sheet _ you think he won’t hear about this?!”

“He’s not dead!” Someone shrieks. They sound rather panicked. “He is not  _ dead _ , I didn't hit him  _ that  _ hard.”

“I called Tanger, he’ll be here in five.”

“Lovely, so  _ I’m  _ about to be dead.”

“We’re all about to be dead, shut up and start cleaning,” A hand shakes his shoulder. “Hey, don’t be dead,” The same voice mutters. Rusty it sounds like. “Sid? Hey c’mon wake up man, if Kris comes in here and you’re still unconscious, he really might kill the new guy.”

Well, this makes things easier for him.

“I’m not  _ dead _ ,” He grumbles. He quickly puts together what pieces of this life he’s given—it’s definitely Rusty kneeling over him, he finds by peeling open his eyes—and what  _ is it  _ with the head injuries? He knows that fate or whatever has something of a sense of humor but really where’s the joke in giving Sid a concussion in every other universe?

Bryan looks relieved but pale. “Good,” He says, then reaches up to take his hat off and run his hand through his hair nervously. “I, uh—I called Kris. I figured you wouldn’t want an ambulance.”

“Definitely not,” Sid sighs. At least there’s a Kris in this world, and they sound close. He hated how unsettling it was, being in a world where he didn’t have his right hand man. Mario is here, too, although presumably not currently in the same area as Sid. Jake is behind Rusty fiddling with his phone, and Zach is helping a very scared looking John Marino shove pieces of cookies into a garbage bin. Different people than what he’s seen so far with the exception of Jake.

He doesn’t even try to get up, but he does attempt to study his surroundings a bit more. They’re all dressed in something like a uniform, jeans or black pants, whatever color shirt they felt like, but they’re all wearing aprons and ball caps that have what looks like the 90’s Penguins logo on them. They’re also all behind a counter of some sort and there’s several mini-fridges tucked underneath, along with shelves lined with various supplies and… that’s a very fancy looking coffee… maker machine thingy. 

No way.

Rusty must see something on his face, because he looks quickly at the machine that most looks like something right out of a Starbucks, then back at him. He seems confused as to what exactly Sid has an issue with, but he attempts to reassure Sid nonetheless. “We can detail the place tonight if you want? I’m supposed to close anyway.”

Jake’s head comes up. “Dude I have a paper due in two days!”

“Should’ve started on it earlier,” Rusty hisses at him. 

Zach starts filling a bucket in one of the sinks. “Maybe if we make this place cleaner than it was when it opened we’ll all still have our jobs tomorrow.”

Sid frowns at him. “I don’t know if they can legally fire you for that.”

Jake snorts. “They’ll find a way—oh  _ shi— _ hi Tanger!”

The whole crew tenses up, and Marino loses all color in his face. A pair of very expensive sounding dress shoes click across wood and then Kris is there, leaning over Sid. He almost looks like he would on game day, an impeccable tailored suit and matching dark blue beanie keeping his hair mostly in place.

He smiles at Sid. Sid smiles back, slightly confused. “Hey, Kris.”

Tanger raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “You’re definitely concussed,” He tells Sid, then looks up at the rest of the guys, grin shark like and unforgiving. “Who the  _ fuck  _ wants to die today, huh?” 

Rusty and Zach both raise their hands innocently, while Jake doesn’t even hesitate to point at Marino. John actually shrinks closer to the floor like he can disappear through it. Sid gives Jake a look. He just shrugs.

“I didn’t mean too?” Marino says weakly. 

If anything, Tanger somehow looks more murderous. “Why is that a question?”

“I didn’t mean too,” John corrects. “I swear, it was an accident.”

“Well…”

“Shut  _ up  _ Jake,” John hisses. “It was an accident—”

“He didn’t think Sid was the one coming through the door.” Guentzy says with a shrug. Sid groans and rubs his face. Rusty’s still crouched next to Sid and helps him sit up. 

Zach jerks his head up with a confused expression. “Who did you think was going to be coming through the door?! Everyone was in the dining room  _ except  _ for him!”

“Are we ignoring the fact that you were intentionally swinging a cookie tray  _ with cookies on _ it towards someones head?” Rusty asks. 

Sid frowns. “Why did you feel the need to specify that there were cookies on it?”

“Because that made it worse!”

“The cookies didn’t help knock me out, Bryan.”

“They’re product! Those are our best sellers!!”

“Sid was  _ unconscious  _ and you’re worried about  _ cost?!” _ Zach yells. Rusty opens his mouth to reply right as Jake and Marino jump into the conversation with their own explanations. 

“You’re all going to have a lot more to worry about than some  _ fucking cookies _ by the time I’m done with you!” Tangers voice cuts through the racket with a sharpness that promises retribution. Sid smiles, still sitting on the floor. This at least feels familiar. “You—” He points at Marino. “Are going to scrub every inch of this fuckin floor, and  _ you— _ ” He points at Jake. “Are going to help him. If either of you go home before midnight, assume you don’t have to come back.” 

Sid pokes at his leg. “Don’t be mean.” 

Kris flicks him in the head. “Shut up,  _ you  _ get to go to the hospital and make eyes at the doctor you won’t admit to liking and then you get a week of paid time off. I have to deal with you  _ and  _ these idiots.”

“It was an accident,” Sid grumbles, accepting the hand Tanger offers and using it to stand. His head doesn’t really hurt—a mild headache if anything. 

Kris points toward the doors. “Go get in the car so I can finish yelling at them.”

“You’re gonna make him wait in the car while you chew us out?”

Tanger swings around to glare at Jake. Sid winces. His rookie has a bit more an attitude here.

“No, I’m going to give him ten minutes to shamble out to the car, and during that time I’m going to give a teaser trailer to the two and a half hours of your life that I will spend making you regret the day you were born.” Tanger just about snarls. Sid’s managed to find a break in the counter and has made it to the door, except he’s realized he doesn’t know which car is his friend’s. 

“Um—” Once again all eyes turn to him. Sid bites his lip. “Keys?”

Kris doesn’t give them to him, but he does dig them out of his pocket. A sleek black Porsche flashes its lights. 

He gives them all a thumbs up and goes to wait in the car. 

**…**

The car is nice. Quiet. The interior is clean, smelling like ground coffee and spices. When Tanger finally gets in, he looks like he fits perfectly with the expensive interior. 

“Are they alive?” Sid murmurs, amused. This Tanger feels a lot like his Tanger—protective and sarcastic and sharp around the edges.

“For now,” Kris grumbles. The car comes to life with a soft purr, and they’re off. Sid doesn’t know where they are—not in Pittsburgh that's for sure. 

Or it could be Pittsburgh, but it’s not one he knows.

“How’s your head?” 

Sid sighs. They’ve been driving for a while in silence, although Kris keeps glancing over at him with worry. “It’s… I’m kinda fuzzy.”

He isn't really, but like his previous reality, he figures that the blow to the head will be enough of an excuse. 

“Yeah, you’re way too quiet,” Kris lets out a sigh of his own, reaching and tugging off his hat. “I really am not looking forward to calling Mario.”

Sid snorts. Some things don’t change. 

“I texted Doc Hotty-—”

“You have his number but not his name?”

“Oh _excuse_ me,” Tanger rolls his eyes. “ _Doctor_ _Malkin_ will be waiting for you when we get there. I’m going to leave you in his more than capable hands and head to the apartment. Close the curtains or something.”

“The apartment?” Sid asks then winces, rolling his eyes at himself. He knows this is only his third—day, universe, whatever the hell—but he knows that he shouldn’t be asking questions that this Sidney should know the answer too.

He gets lucky—Kris gives him a look of concern but doesn’t seem to think too much of it. “Yeah well unless you were planning on going home with the guy you’ve managed to have a crush on for three years yet not said more than twenty words to, the apartment is where you’re staying bud. Mario’s house isn’t exactly quiet since Drea was born.”

They swing a left and end up next to a ticket booth thing. Kris fiddles with the device as Sid wonders how he’s going to move on from this universe. It's almost too easy at the moment—he hasn’t had to talk much, he’s gotten a lot of information, and if Tanger is to be believed, he’s about to have contact with Geno but they don’t have that deep of a relationship.

In the last two realities he’s left almost as soon as he’s talked to Geno—the problem is that there isn’t anything specific between the last two. He didn’t repeat any of the same phrases, he didn’t ask the same question, he just… talked to Geno. The first place he asked Geno ‘ _ You’d tell me right? _ ’ The second he asked Geno to stay with him, spend their lives together, although not quite in those words.

Both of those relied on the relationship he had with those different Geno’s. As far as he knows, this Sid and Geno don’t  _ have  _ a relationship. 

“Do you need help?”

Sid starts at Kris’ question. Looking around he realizes they’re in front of the entrance, people milling about while cars pull in and out of the drop off lane. 

“Sid? I can park, I have a ticket for it.”

“No I’m—I’m good. I’ll text you when I’m done.” 

It takes him until the lobby before he simultaneously realizes he doesn’t have his phone, nor does he know where the hell he’s supposed to be going. There’s an information desk which looks promising, especially since the person sitting behind it doesn’t look like any of his teammates. 

He doesn’t really get to look, though, because right as he approaches someone calls his name. Sid turns to see a breathless looking Connor Sheary jogging up to him. 

“Shears?”

Connor smiles and takes a gentle grip of Sid's arm. “Hey—Sorry Candace, this one’s mine.” He tugs Sid away from the desk and towards a set of doors. “Tanger called, said you might get lost.” Connor expertly maneuvers them down winding hallways and several sets of doors. He’s wearing pale yellow scrubs. They have little penguins on them.

Sid has to bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing hysterically. 

“You’re lucky Doctor Malkin is in today, otherwise you would have had Ovi, and I know you generally do not get along with his… everything.” Sid smirks, but doesn’t say anything. They pass through another set of doors and into a generic waiting room. Connor brings him right through and into a more brightly lit hall that holds all the exam rooms and points him into one.

Sheary follows him in, ushering him into a chair so he can take his vitals. That’s something Sid is rather familiar with—he’s been in so many doctors offices and hospitals it’s almost sad. Having his pulse and blood pressure checked is far from the most painful thing he’s ever had to endure. So it’s not really something he thinks of as odd until he catches Connor looking at him with concern.

“What?” He asks. He thought staying quiet would be the best way for this to go smoothly. 

“Nothing,” Connor shrugs. “Usually you aren’t this quiet is all. We used to joke that when you came in for your tetanus booster we’d all have to hold you down to get it done.”

Sid copies his shrug. “Maybe I should get knocked out by my employees more often.”

“Yeah about that,” Connor scribbles something on a clipboard he snagged from the nurses station. “Cully put Tanger on speaker phone when he called, so literally  _ everybody  _ in the office knows what happened. I think Dumo is still on the floor laughing.”

Sid groans and buries his face in his hands. Connor laughs, so it must be the right reaction. 

There’s a knock on the door. Shears pats him on the back and leaves after a small conversation with the new comer..

“Sidney Crosby!” For a second Sid doesn’t recognize the voice, the lack of accent throwing him off. He’s still got his face buried in his hands, which is good, because it hides his surprise. “Hear you got knocked out by cookies.”

Sid looks up. “I didn’t get knocked out by  _ cookies _ ,” He feels like this needs to be specified. “I was knocked out by the metal pan the cookies were  _ on _ .”

Geno gives him a crooked smile. Sid feels himself start to blush.

“Are cookies okay?”

“They were an unfortunate casualty of an already tragic incident,” Sid says flatly. Geno hums, pulling out a pen light. It’s another unfortunately familiar thing, getting checked for a concussion. His head doesn’t really hurt, just a minor headache. The bright lights of the room don’t even bother him.

“Headache?” Geno asks after checking his pupils. Sid nods. “How bad?”

“Almost unnoticeable.”

This exchange almost feels normal to Sid, if he can ignore the fact that neither of them play hockey, Sid is a manager at an upscale coffee shop and Geno is a doctor. Geno used to check up on Sid all the time, during and after the concussion. Geno—his Geno—would always get so quiet whenever Sid took a hit up high. If it looked intentionally, he’d be angry, but most of the time it was just hockey, and Geno was scared.

(But he’d  _ always  _ check. “ _ Headache? Neck hurt? How's vision? Dizzy?” _ and Sid would always answer, even when it annoyed him to be asked.)

“I’d say you just have a mild concussion, and  _ will not  _ work for a few days until you’ve had at least twenty four hours without any symptoms,” Geno says, writing on the clipboard. He squints over at Sid. “You are acting weird though.”

Sid feels himself tense. “I mean, a concussion will… do that?”

G just looks at him. “Too comfortable.”

“Huh?”

“You,” Geno points the pen at him. “Are too comfortable. First I have to send my nurse out to get you because Tanger is worried you’re going to get lost in a hospital you have been to enough times to be familiar with. Then Connor says you don’t say a word to him, and that you are totally fine while he pokes an prodes you. With other patients I’d attribute that to the magical power of Connor Sheary, but you—no. And then you’re fine having a conversation with me, when every other time we see each other you say two words then run from the room.”

Sidney—he has absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. “I—um, it’s just—”

“Sid,” Geno says gently. “Shouldn’t lie. If you’re confused, if what I’m asking you is hard to understand, that’s okay, you just have to tell me. Lying about what's going on with you isn’t going to help anyone. It’s just going to make things worse.”

Sid literally has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. Geno doesn’t love you here, he reminds himself viciously. They aren’t together. This isn’t his Geno.

They barely know each other. 

“You make me nervous!” Sid blurts out when Geno seems to take Sid’s lack of response as confirmation of worse symptoms. “And I know that concussions can make you—loose lipped or whatever but you make me nervous and I hate hospitals but I like—I like seeing you.”

He really,  _ really  _ hopes that fits what this Sid actually feels, because he just made that up. It seems like something he would do anyway. Geno used to make Sid nervous when they were younger. 

Geno stares at him for a second in shock, and then slowly his face morphs into a blinding grin.

“You mean it?”

“Um—”

“I  _ knew it!” _ Geno—it randomly occurs to him that he’s actually a doctor and is probably supposed to be professional—yells, pumping a fist. “I knew, I knew it. Tanger kept saying no, it’s because I’m  _ ‘annoying’  _ and that you ‘ _ didn’t like me _ ’ but no, I knew.”

“How?” Sid can’t help but smile. “How did you know if my  _ best friend _ told you otherwise.”

Geno scoffs. “Tanger’s a horrible liar, and I know he wouldn’t have agreed to trade numbers with me if you actually didn’t like me. He thinks you’re lonely, you know. He said that to protect you, because he’s a good friend, but he worries.”

“Why is it that you have Tanger’s number but not mine?”

A snort. “You think Tanger would give me your number? You think I’d  _ ask _ ? He’d kill me.”

Sid doesn’t know his phone number here. And he certainly doesn’t want to give Geno a wrong one. 

“I’ll give you mine,” Geno says, like it’s just that easy.

“I—” Sid blinks, freezing. “I don’t have my phone.” He doesn’t even know if he could unlock if he had it.

“Can give me number, you know. I almost always have mine.”

“Right, yes but I—don’t you have it on my file or whatever?”

Geno gives him a look of false offense. “You think I snoop in my patients files Sid? I can’t look for personal reasons, would have to be medical.” He shifts, almost looking guilty. “Besides, you’re the only person left in the world who has a landline. You even told me you only have it so less people call your actual cell phone.”

That’s actually a pretty good idea honestly. 

“I don’t remember it,” He admits. “You can just give me yours if you want—”

“You’d lose it.” 

“I wouldn't  _ lose  _ it—”

“You once lost your keys in the five feet between my front desk and the nurse’s office. You’d lose it.” 

Sid can’t respond to that. He’s pretty sure that this Sid might’ve intentionally lost his keys.

“Maybe you just have to trust me,” Geno says, smiling. Sid feels dizzy. “I’ll find my way to you instead.”

Sid swallows.

“I trust you.”

**…**

Sid wakes up.

Sid wakes up and wakes up and wakes up, and each time he feels further from himself, further from where he is supposed to be. He wakes up and he wakes up and he wakes up and Sid’s never—he’s never  _ home _ . He never gets to see his Geno. He gets hugged and kissed and made love to, and each time it burns him because it’s not  _ his  _ Geno doing it. It’s not his Geno who makes him pancakes and it’s not his Geno who tells Sid  _ ‘I love you’ _ when he think’s Sid is asleep and it’s not his Geno who hugs him and tells him  _ ‘I’ll never leave you. _ ’

It’s not his Geno who promises Sid ‘ _ I tell you everything, good, bad, ugly, dangerous _ ’. It’s not his Geno, it can’t be his Geno, because his Geno said the same thing, but his Geno  _ lied _ .

Geno didn’t tell him everything. And maybe Sid didn’t listen, maybe Sid should’ve made more time—but Geno could’ve said something. He  _ would have _ said something.

Sid replays the fight every time he wakes up. He hears the words, he sees the indecision on Geno’s face, the pain—he sees how Geno reacts to Sid’s pain with sorrow and undertones of guilt. The more he sees it the more he knows - Geno broke up with him for no reason at all, or at the very least, the reason he has was a crock of shit. 

And Geno knew it. 

Every time Sid wakes up, he feels more and more scared that he’ll never be home. He gets more and more desperate to find the reason in these other Geno’s, to understand something that was incomprehensible to Sid. Sid can’t fix them if he’s stuck in all these different universes. He wants to  _ go _ , but if he wakes up in the right time and space, if he’s there in the hospital and Geno  _ isn’t— _

(Sid wakes up and wakes up and wakes up, and every time he knows that he and Geno are still broken. He doesn’t know how to fix them.)

…

Sid wakes up and it tastes like something died in his mouth.

All the breath leaves his lungs in a sharp woosh, and he closes his eyes again immediately. The environment he finds himself in isn’t especially vibrant or loud, in fact it’s quite the opposite. There’s very little noise at all, and the room is dim. 

The change in position has him fighting to keep from gagging. At least the headache he has this time feels more like a hangover than a concussion. 

Sid listens carefully, steadying his breathing and forcing himself to relax. He can’t feel any eyes on him, and after a while decides he must alone in the room. The only sound he can hear is that of a soft fan. There’s not even birds making noise outside, although he knows the sun is up and peaking through the curtains. 

He stays very still for a few minutes before deciding to open his eyes.

The walls are grey, a few marks and chips of paint missing but otherwise bland. The room itself is small, barely a few feet between the edge of the bed he’s laying on and a nearly overflowing desk that's fit snugly to the opposite wall. The wall in front of the desk is covered in sticky notes and note cards, different colors of each. If he knows himself well enough, they’re probably color coded to different subjects.

The fan on his windowsill takes up most of the wall perpendicular to the wall next to his bed. The room is most like a trapezoid; Sid’s bed and the desk stuck to each of the longest sides, the window connecting those two sides. There's a wall at a strange angle with a cheap white door, and a short hall-like area that leads to a heavy looking wooden one. The wooden one must be the actual entrance to the room, and the other door probably leads to the world's tiniest bathroom. There’s no kitchen so it’s not an apartment in itself. Given the state of the desk and the stacks of books on the chair next to it—if Sid’s guessing, and he is, it looks like a dorm room.

College.

Sid turns his head back to stare straight at the ceiling. There’s a growing sense of panic and frustration in his chest, and forcing deep breathes on himself isn’t working. He presses his palms to his eyes, making colors burst behind them. 

It doesn’t work. It isn’t working, he  _ doesn’t know what to do _ —

He rolls over and screams into the pillow. It helps with the frustration at least. 

A half hour later and he’s still in the bed, only now he’s resorted to hugging the pillow and hoping this universe’s Sidney didn’t have any tests to take or projects to submit. He can’t bring himself to get up and look around to find more clues about a life that could’ve been his.

It’s not his fourth day. It’s not his tenth, it’s not his fifteenth. 

He doesn’t know if he can do this anymore.

He wonders what happens to the Sid’s in these universes when he replaces them. Do they end up in his body, confused and scared and wondering why everything so different? Do they remember being in a place they shouldn’t, the same way Sid feels he’s going to remember each and every universe he ends up in? Moreover what’s happening to  _ him  _ in his universe? Is all this happening a split second, or is he in the hospital? Has it been days or weeks?

There is quite literally nothing he can do to answer these questions. 

Nothing he can do. 

Sid stays in bed.

…

The knock comes a few hours later. Actually the term ‘knock’ is rather generous. This is more of a pounding. He’s rather surprised the door doesn’t come it’s hinges.

“Sid, I  _ swear to god _ if you’re in here and you’re totally fine I’m gonna fucking—”

Sid crosses the room, yanks open the door, looks Kris dead in the eye and says, “I’m gay and I play hockey for the Pittsburgh Penguins and my boyfriend of five years broke up with me for no reason and the next day I played a game where I got checked head first into the boards and ever since then I’ve been jumping through alternate realities. This is about my fortieth. I don’t know anything about you or our relationship. I’m not your Sidney.”

Kris still has his fist raised to hit the door. He blinks at Sid for a second, and then rolls his eyes. 

“You better have beer because I am not doing this sober,” Kris brushes by Sid. 

Sid closes the door and turns. Tanger is actually digging beer out of a small black mini fridge tucked into between the end of his bed and a closet. 

“It’s not even noon.” Sid mutters, his alarm clock pointing out the time rather obnoxiously. 

Kris climbs onto the unmade bed, sitting with his back against the wall. “I had to sit down with the fucking head of the Business department because my advisor got so mad that I went around her to get approved for elevated course load, and then on the way out  _ your  _ professor stops me and wants to know why his thesis advisee didn’t show up to his class and skipped on their weekly meeting. And I said,  _ ‘hey, don’t worry about it Professor Sullivan, you know Sidney, I’m sure he’s got a really good reason. I’ll even check on him for you’ _ .

“And then you don’t answer your phone and you also skipped econ this morning, and I come pounding on your door and  _ here you are _ , totally fine.” Kris glares at him. “Except your spouting some shit about being in the wrong universe or something and that is not a really good reason Sidney.”

Sid opens his mouth, closes it, and frowns. “I don’t know, I think not belonging to this universe is an excellent reason.”

Tanger waves the beer at him. “Oh I’m not disputing that, I’m just saying we need to come up with a  _ better  _ reason, preferably a more believable one. Preferably on that won’t make people think you cracked under stress.”

“You...believe me?”

“Of course,” Kris waves a hand. “You remember that story I told you about flower and the pomeranian? This isn’t  _ that  _ far off. Besides, the Sid I know is not that creative, he’d never be able to come up with something as elaborate as that.”

Tanger eyes him after that, and when Sid doesn’t say anything - he thinks if he really tried he could come up with something as crazy sounding as what he said, but the reality of it is that Sid would never bother to try - his friend sits forward. 

“Holy shit you're serious,” He says, swallowing a swig of beer with a grimace. “You’re like. Actually not my Sid.”

Sid raises an eyebrow. Tanger puts the bottle down on the floor. “My Sid would’ve fought me on that comment, probably launched into some big speel about what defines creativity and how different people express it and did I know there was some boring history person who was actually super creative? But you looked like you almost agree with me so like- what the fuck.”

Sidney rubs the back of his neck nervously. He didn’t really plan this out, but he certainly didn’t think that Kris would actually believe him. “I mean I- I’ve been doing this for a while. This isn’t my first alternate reality.”

“Are you just like- hold on,” Kris digs his phone out of a pair of faded black jeans and types something. “If you’re still here tomorrow, you were super sick okay?”

“I’ve never been in a universe for more than one day.” Sid points out. “I always manage to find- find this person, and inevitably we have some weirdly loaded conversation, and then I’m waking up and I’m somewhere else.”

Kris stares at him for a long moment, the blinks and shakes his head. “Okay, alright, you- you’re going to sit, and you’re going to tell me everything.”

“How’s that going to help-”

“Have you told anyone before? Do you know why this is happening? Do you know how to get it to stop? Because unless you can answer ‘yes’ to all of those questions, talking to me is probably going to be helpful for you. Plus, this is kind of freaking me out and I’d like  _ my  _ Sid back, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Sid huffs. “But you better not have anywhere to be, because I’m not stopping halfway through this. I’m fucking tired.”

Tanger gets up and grabs another beer, tugging Sid down onto the bed next to him when he returns.

“Try me.”

**…**

“Holy shit,” Kris says faintly. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s- holy  _ shit _ .”

Sid hums. 

“I was a  _ defenseman _ ?”

“You went to all-stars too.”

“ _ Holy shit _ .”

Sidney takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. Over the course of the last two hours he’s managed to give a semi-detailed explanation of most of his life and relationship with Geno, plus the fight and the consequences of the hit. It feels like it was so long ago. He’s been through so many different universes, had to pretend to be so many different versions of himself all in an attempt to match the different versions of Geno.

  
  
  


He misses Geno. He gets to see Geno every day, but he misses the Geno he knows. His.

But he’s not his anymore, is he? Sid feels like he’s going around in circles. Every day is a new place, a new encounter, a new dynamic that reminds him that even if he gets to wake up back where he’s supposed to be, his Geno-

_ “We been here too long, I think— need break.” _

His Geno doesn’t want him. His Geno doesn’t want him and it’s torture to keep being put in situations where he’s faced with a Geno who  _ does _ .

“Why did you tell me?”

Sid blinks, staring at the wall. “I’m fucking tired.”

“Right, sure but- you said you’ve been in a lot of these. I’m sure it didn’t take forty odd universes for you to get tired of resetting.” He can feel Tangers eyes on him. “So either you finally realized something, or there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

Sid worries his lip. He’s been over the fight a thousand times. He’s thought about why he’s here, doing this stupid never ending universe hop bullshit. He thought it all through with each new reality. And he’s- he’s  _ sure _ . He’s sure about this.

“He didn’t mean it,” Sid says softly. “I- or if he did, it- it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re talking about the break up?”

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Sid hisses. “It’s not a- he didn’t- he said he wanted a break.”

“That’s the same thing,” Kris mumbles. “And this is the guy you keep meeting in all these universes right?”

“Yep,” Sid sighs. “Like one big joke.”

“Maybe it’s not supposed to be a joke?” Tanger asks. Sid’s skepticism must show on his face because he rushes to continue. “No, no hear me out. This might sound stupid, but- aren’t you supposed to learn something? Like whatever greater power that’s switching you around, did you ever think it was trying to you something? You meet- what’s his name?”

“Geno.”

“- you meet Geno in  _ every  _ universe, you talk to him in  _ every  _ universe, you  _ only  _ switch universe after you’ve talked to him. You haven’t exactly detailed out what you say to him each time.”

“It changes, there’s no pattern.” Sid’s tried that route. It almost doesn’t matter what he says. He still wakes up in a different place. He’s still not home.

Kris nudges their shoulders together. “Okay, so there you go. If it doesn’t matter what you’re saying to him, then the important thing is that you keep meeting him.”

“What like the universe is trying to say we’re soulmate? That’s bullshit,” Sid snaps in agitation. “He broke up with me, and there was- there was nothing, there was  _ no  _ reason. I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to fix us if I don’t know what’s really wrong.”

“You keep saying that,” Tanger comments. “That you need to fix it.”

Sid gapes at him. “Well, yeah  _ asshole _ , I fucking love him, of course I’m going to try and fix this.”

“...okay, but you can’t.”

“What?” Sid rasps.

“You can’t fix this,” He repeats. “If what you said is true, that you have no idea why Geno would want to break up with you, and that you didn’t do anything wrong...then that’s not something you can fix. Why is it all on you? Why does it have to be you that fixes it? You’re not the one who made up a bullshit excuse to break up, you didn’t break this, so why are you so sure that you’d even be able to fix it?” 

“Because- because I-”

“Because why?”

“Because I’m the fucking Captain!” Sid yells. “Because it’s my job to make sure that everything goes right, and when shit goes wrong it’s my responsibility! It’s my job to understand why and to fix it!”

“But he’s not just your teammate Sidney!” Kris yells back. “He’s not just a responsibility, he’s the guy you love, and he loves you, and just because you’re used to taking the blame doesn’t mean everything is your fault.”

“I-” Sid chokes. “I don’t…”

_ “You can’t fix everything Sid! Think you can do everything, always about you!” _

Geno had yelled the same thing at him. His Geno, telling him in the same argument that he never listened, and Sid has just thought ‘ _ no, I do listen, it must be something else’. _ Geno had told him and Sid knew that it didn’t make sense, he knew Geno want to go but he-

_ “Think you can do everything, always about you.” _

“I can’t lose him Kris.” He whispers.

“Okay, well, if recent events are any indication, I don’t think you will. Every universe you go to, he’s there. Waiting for you.” Kris says gently. “You have to trust that he’s going to be there when you get back.”

“I do- I do trust him-” 

“But you don’t,” Tanger points out. “Look, if you’re anything like my Sidney, then everything in you says to fight like hell to keep him, because that’s what’s familiar to you. That’s  _ easy _ . You’ve probably done that your whole life. What’s hard is accepting that you  _ can’t do anything _ . What’s hard is trusting him  _ now _ , even after he’s hurt you.

“It might be the hardest thing you ever do, but you need to trust Geno. You have to trust that he’s going to come back to you.”

The room falls quiet after that. Sid has his head in both his hands trying not to start crying. 

He’s right. It’s not even a Kris that Sid knows, but he’s  _ right _ . Sid doesn’t have the control on this one. He can’t fix them jumping from universe to universe, but he even if he was home he still won’t be able to. He doesn’t know what went wrong. He misses Geno but he’s been so scared to be  _ home  _ because he doesn’t know if Geno misses him too. He doesn’t trust Geno to be there and that’s  _ wrong _ , that’s so wrong.

Sid has always trusted Geno. Above everyone else, he trusted Geno.

But Geno hurt him. Geno broke up with him over nothing, and even if Sid is sure Geno didn’t want to, even though he’s sure there has got to be some explanation for it, it still broke something for Sid. 

He sort of hates it took this long for him to figure this out.

Sid exhales shakily and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a growing ache. “How the hell are you this fucking capable of emotion while in  _ college _ ?” 

“I’m an english major,” Tanger sniffs haughtily, like that somehow makes him good at deep emotional conversations. He’d been playing around on his phone while Sid was doing a very good job not breaking down while thinking this all through. “Are you okay now? Will you freak out if I leave you alone in your room? I really have to pee.”

“You’re the one who drank all my beer.”

“Not technically yours, I think,” He says, standing carefully. “But fair. Also I need to get my laptop if we’re going to chill in here for the rest of the night, I actually have work to do.”

“Yeah sure,” Sid says, stretching out in the space Tanger vacated. “Do whatever.”

He doesn’t tell Kris that Sid probably won’t be there when he gets back.

\--

Sid blinks awake, and this time he’s in a hospital room. 

He sighs, then makes himself start categorizing. His head hurts, which is enough of a common occurrence that he can’t blame his current surroundings on that. There’s no casts, he’s not in any slings, and nothing hurts exactly, but his vision is blurry enough that it could be because of whatever meds they may or may not have given him.

“Sidney?” A familiar voice says softly, tinged with worried hope. “Sid, hey—can you look at me?”

He blinks slowly and rolls his head to the side. Sleep is still clinging to his brain, longer than normal after he jumps. 

A warm hand squeezing his, and a few more sluggish blinks brings a face into view.

“Kris,” He sighs in relief. He hates universes where he has to find his friend. He got lucky with the last one. “You’re here?”

Tanger makes a face. “Course I’m here Sid, where else would I be?”

Sid stays quiet, processing the information. He likes to think he’s gotten good at this; figuring out details of each reality he lands in. They must be close in this universe. He wonders what they do, how they met. There’s not a lot of clues for Sid here—there’s no ring on his finger, he can’t feel a chain around his neck, but depending on what happened to him the hospital staff might’ve taken it off if he had one, so he doesn’t know if he’s already with Geno here. The flimsy hospital gown isn’t giving him any clues either. 

“Um,” Sid tilts his head down, eyes their joined hands without an ounce of subtlety. Kris doesn’t say anything, and there’s no awkward tension. There  _ is  _ however, a ring on  _ Tanger’s  _ hand. So Kris is married, and they’re both  _ really  _ close. “Work?” He guesses.

Kris snorts and rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair but not releasing his hold on Sid. “Mario said you’d yell at me for being here. To which I replied ‘no he won’t, because there is no way Sid forgot what happened last time he tried to tell me our jobs were more important’.”

Sid blinks. He doesn’t know how to respond to that—in the universe he knows, he remembers a time where he was in the hospital and trying to tell Kris to go home, and Kris just about screamed at him in response. 

_ “Don’t you dare tell me not to care about you!” _ He’d yelled, desperate and angry and Sid had been  _ really  _ confused for a while until Taylor sat him down and explained how “telling your best friend that hockey is more important than them being there for you can kinda feel like a smack in the face, because Kris probably felt like you were telling him that he should care more about the sport than he should care about you”. Sid had apologized and Tanger had-

It doesn’t matter. This isn’t the universe he knows, so he doesn’t really know how to respond to that. It’s surprising that Mario is in this one  _ and  _ knows Kris, and Sid has been in the hospital before and they’ve… been in this exact position before…

Unless.

_ ‘No _ ,’ He thinks. ‘ _ You’d know, you’d…you’d know if you were back. _ ’

“So, uh—” Sid swallows. “About… work.”

Kris’ eyes narrow in suspicion. “The team is fine Sid. They even won the game last night, which Sully said was a miracle, since they were so distracted during—”

“Game?!” Sid sits up, way too fast if the way his head aches is anything to go by. “What—what game, which game, what—” He stares at Tanger, searching along his face to find any difference, anything at all. “Team?”

There’s nothing—maybe darker bruises under his eyes and fresh worry in his expression—but there’s nothing Sid can really find that is different from the Tanger he remembers. Hope bubbles up in his chest and before he can think about how incoherent it would sound he blurts out, “You—you’re  _ my  _ Tanger?”

Kris is looking at him, and for a terrible second all his face holds is fear and dread. Then his expression smooths into a calm blankness, and Sid thinks, well, yeah that wasn’t his smartest move. If his head hurts still, and this is really  _ his Kris _ , then he watched Sid go into the boards. It’s also been at least a few days, if the team played last night. So Kris thinks he’s concussed  _ again _ , and he’s been unconscious for a few days. 

And those are the words Sid’s brain chooses to use. 

Kris lets go of his hand and slowly eases him back against the bed before telling Sid he’ll be back. “Don’t go back to sleep okay? I just have to get the doctor.”

“Tanger,” He groans. “I’m not—this isn’t—”

“It’s fine, Sid, I was supposed to call them if you woke up.” 

He disappears out the door. Sid presses his hands to his face and lets a grin spread across his face.

Home. He’s- he’s  _ home _ .

A nurse comes in, checking his vitals by hand and asking a whole assortment of questions. Sid almost can’t stop smiling. He knows the answers to all of these, with the exception of the date. She tells him it’s been a few days, that he hasn’t been coherent - Sid dreads hearing about the things he said while he was out. 

“Everything looks good,” She smiles at him. “Your doctor will be by in a while to run through everything with you. It’s good to have you back Mister Crosby.”

Sid can’t help the laugh that escapes. He’s back.

He’s back.

She leaves, the door clicking open and shut. Someone enters while Sid is trying to keep his hands from shaking. He’s  _ back _ .

“Sid.”

He freezes for a second, then forces himself to look to the left.

Geno.

_ His Geno _ .

“G,” He whispers. Geno looks horrible, ten times worse than Kris. “ _ Geno _ .”

His. His, his, his.

He’d stopped halfway to the bed, but at Sid’s words he rushes forward to the side of the bed.

“I’m  _ so sorry Sidney _ -”

“G, Geno it’s okay-”

“-no, not okay.  _ Not  _ okay. Was stupid, was so stupid Sid, didn’t mean it, didn’t mean any of it, swear to god.” Geno is frantic, hands clutching Sids and eyes darting over Sid’s face. “I love you so much, Sid, was—was so dumb.”

“G—”

“No, no I—” He dips his head slightly, biting his lip. “You listen to me.”

Sid closes his eyes, clenching his jaw as the fight comes rushing back. “Geno—”

“Zhenya,” G interrupts. “Is name you call me.”

“Zhenya,” Sid corrects, not entirely able to keep the soft smile from over taking his face. He takes a deep breath. “This doesn’t change things—”

“Changes everything Sid. Not what I say, before in hotel—is  _ shit  _ Sid, not true. I hurt you, and I know this. You listen to me even when I think you not, you listen to everyone, even people you shouldn’t. Best captain, best teammate, but I’m need you to listen to me now.”

Geno tightens his grip on Sid’s hand and looks at him with hope and fear and desperation. 

And—and  _ love _ .

Sid was afraid he’d never see Geno— _ his  _ Geno—look at him like that again. There isn’t much else to do but take a deep breath, nod him on, and try not to start crying.

“I don’t want a break,” He starts. Sid braces himself for the worst, for ‘I want a trade’ or ‘I want to retire’ or something equally as horrific that’ll take Geno away from him forever. “No, Sid is—I want to get married. Want friends and family and teammates and pretty flowers and cake and dance with your mama and—I don’t want break. Never did. Was so  _ stupid _ —I should have told you what going on. Shouldn’t have hurt you like that.”

_ ‘You have to trust that he’s going to come back to you.’ _

Sid blinks, gasping in relief as a tear slips down his face.

“Zhenya,” Sid breathes. “I want that, I do, but why—why would you—I was so  _ scared— _ ”

Geno makes a crooning sound and reaches up to thumb away the tear. “I know, I know Sid—know that's your worst fear, know how long it take you to stop thinking I’m going to leave one day, no reason. Know that you afraid you not treat me right, I know. I had to— you have to believe that it was real.”

“But  _ why _ —” 

“Because they—gonna hurt you if I didn’t,” Geno’s voice is soft, gentle in a way that juxtaposes the meaning of his words.

Sid blinks. “What?”

“I get threat. We out at dinner, me and Sasha. Check phone, think you text me, instead is picture. Someone knows, has—many more pictures Sid. Me and you, very obvious Sid—wanted to hurt you. The people who send, say not to talk. No police or team, and I’m scared, so I don’t say words to anyone. Think—I can figure it out, but they want me to do things, Sidney, things I never do, so I think—maybe best if we not together. Make—space between us.”

Shocked is not descriptive enough to describe what Sid’s feeling. If there’s a word that combines shocked with worried, scared, disgusted and violated, that’s probably more accurate. He knew people didn’t like him, but to threaten Geno, to—they’ve been so careful too, so the only way someone could get  _ pictures  _ is if they were stalking the two of them.

“Then you get hurt,” Geno continues lowly. “And I’m so scared, decide—they can post pictures if they want.”

“Geno!” Sid gasps. One of the reasons they’ve been so careful—not just because of the league they play in, but also because the repercussions for Geno’s family. “You—did they—”

“Tell you to listen, yes?” Geno says with a small smile. “They not post pictures. I go to Mario, Jen, Coach—we sit down with lawyers and come up with plan. They tell police in secret, put secret officers in hospital for you. Had to look through the house, but—he not cover tracks very well.”

“They got him?”

Geno nods. “Don’t want you to worry Sid. He not bother us again.” 

“Why,” Sid mumbles. It makes sense, in that Sid has gotten threats since before he even went into the NHL, but—why send it to Geno? Why bother with the blackmail?

“They arrest him during game last night. Said—said I was ruining you, that I was—”

“—the reason I’m gay,” Sid finishes. G nods. “God people are fucking crazy.”

“Crazy, yes,” Geno keeps rubbing at the skin of Sid’s hand. “I was maybe little crazy too. All happened so fast, I panic—just trying to get you safe. Was hardest thing I ever do, walking away from you like that,” he says lowly. “Cried most of the night, and then you go down before I can tell you—the doctors not sure about anything at first, I think I lose you without ever telling you I’m sorry.”

“Oh,  _ Zhenya _ ,” He whispers, watching with a pain in his heart as tears fall silently down Geno’s face. “You never lost me. I love you, I’m always going to love you.”

And it’s true, he thinks. A million different worlds, and Sid will always love Geno. There isn’t a time or place where that isn’t true.

Sid smiles weakly, choking back his own tears. “I can’t imagine a world without you here next to me.”

A sob seems to tear itself from Geno’s throat, and he unfolds himself from the tiny hospital chair to lay on the bed next to Sid and press their foreheads together. Like they used to do when they first got together, just to share the same space as one another. Just to breathe the same air, to  _ feel  _ each other like it could bring them closer.

“I love you so much, Sidney Crosby,” He whispers furiously against Sid’s lips. “And I always will.”

And as they kiss, Sid knows, deep in his soul, that the words Geno has said are true.

Across every universe.

\----

_ fin _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you all enjoyed. As always comments and Kudos are appreciated. I love this ship but I have such a hard time writing it.
> 
> Huge thanks to demi for the beta!!! <3


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